


You Once Read

by brunchywrites



Series: I Once Read... [6]
Category: DCU
Genre: Angst, Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Heavy Angst, the sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-01-16 05:20:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18514726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brunchywrites/pseuds/brunchywrites
Summary: “Batman.. My men will take him down if they see him again, but I’ve seen him. He’s a kid. You can tell just by the way he carries himself and..”“Kids deserve a second chance, I know. I’ll find him, Gordon. Just keep your men out of it until then. Does he go by any sort of name?”“Yeah,” Gordon lit the tip of his cigarette on fire and the ember glowed against the darkness, “Calls himself The Red Hood.”





	1. Prologue

It had been two years since Jason died and Bruce knew he wasn’t the same. How could he be the same? He held his dead son’s corpse in his arms for hours, had to bury him, had to live everyday without him it. It was unfair that the world moved on when the boy with a heart full of hope for the world was six feet under, and rotting.

But he managed, somehow he managed if. Managing as in scraping by but sometimes you had to scrape by to exist. There was everything he could have done to save Jason so he did everything he possibly could to make Gotham safe. His own self was an afterthought, he dove head first into the cowl and his nightlife until it came close to ending his own life. 

Even then he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. What else was he supposed to do? When Bane snapped his back he used every means necessary to speed up his recovery. He lost the relationship he built with the GCPD, with Gotham herself, (he lost his son, he lost his damn son).He lost everything. And had rebuilt it from the bottom up once more. He patched his relationship steadily with the police force, with his family. It was a slow, taxing process. When he wasn’t working on a case he was snapping, and he tried to keep that minimal. 

But his night life, that was always more important.

He sat perched upon the top of the police department’s rooftop, standing behind Commissioner Gordon at a safe distance, watching.

“You called?”

Gordon jumped three feet out of his skin, “One day you’ll stop doing that,” and he sighed so heavily. Everyone in Gotham was exhausted, even Bruce. Tiredness pulled at his body like a vice but he had to keep moving. He didn’t have a choice. 

Bruce stood silent, until Jim finally started talking, “This weekend a duffel bag full of heads was dropped at our doorstep.” 

“Heads?” Bruce felt like he should’ve been shocked but he wasn’t. Another murderer was on the loose, good for him. 

“Yes but.. Not random heads, the heads of drug cartel owners. From what we got out of their subordinates, someone.. Took down their rings, took the heads of the ring leaders and left. The only thing he took was the money, he destroyed the drugs, everything. But he still killed them, lopped of their heads,” Jim shuddered, pulling his coat closer around him.”He did it with purpose, some type of motive.” 

“You need me to find him?” 

“Batman.. My men will take him down if they see him again, but I’ve seen him. He’s a kid. You can tell just by the way he carries himself and..” 

“Kids deserve a second chance, I know. I’ll find him, Gordon. Just keep your men out of it until then. Does he go by any sort of name?” 

“Yeah,” Gordon lit the tip of his cigarette on fire and the ember glowed against the darkness, “Calls himself The Red Hood.”

“I’ll work on it,” and he stepped into the shadows and took off for the next rooftop.


	2. Who?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce does more research on who the Red Hood is.

  
  
Bruce had gone through multiple files of CCTV footage for any documentation on the Red Hood, who was rather new and particularly elusive in the streets of Gotham. He was able to find a few clips of him walking the streets, hackles raised. Bruce from there was able to make notes. Gordon was right, Red Hood was very obviously still a kid. There was the simple way he held himself but also bodily shape, longer limbs, not fully grown into his body.   
  
Which begged the question: how did a kid know how to decapitate multiple people? He had training of some sort, but what training Bruce wasn’t sure about. The few videos he had of the kid fighting were blurry. All he was able to deduce was that he was light on his feet and struck hard when he had to. He obviously had a one hit knockout mentality,  
  
“Mr. Gordon was right, he is quite young, isn’t he,” Alfred broke the steady silence by placing a mug of coffee in front of Bruce. He drew his eyes from the screen and nodded,   
  
“He’s easily a teenager, my guess is between sixteen and seventeen. The main question on the table is who taught him how to do this. Word on the street says he’s ruthless, which.. Doesn’t develop naturally,” he pressed the rewind button on the clip, playing it back slower. Hood jumped from the staircase onto the ledge with a practice ease and knocked whoever he was fighting off with a quick movement. Had it not been so forced Bruce would call it graceful. If he slowed it down enough the kick almost seemed timed. Almost, except the kick obviously wasn’t planned. The kid’s hips jerked too quickly, a sign of panic if even in the briefest moment.    
  
“Well, he’s created quite the stir pot, hasn’t he?” Alfred was leaning forward onto the screen, watching the video play over and over again. “I think we should contact Oracle about this, yeah? Get more footage, analyze it, then approach the boy.”   
  
Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “It can’t be that simple, it’s never that simple. We don’t know his motives, who he was trained by. For all we know he could be a brainwashed pawn and doesn’t know what he’s doing.”   
  
Alfred gestured to the screen, “That is not the motor skill of a brainwashed man, he knows exactly what he’s doing, look at the timing of his jump, it’s perfect to counteract who he’s going after.”   
  
“So he’s trained, but by who?”   
  
“I’m afraid I don’t have all the answers in the universe, Master Bruce. This will be something we figure out together,” Alfred patted his shoulder. “In the meantime, get into contact with Barbara. Collaborate, make friends,” he started walking off.   
  
Bruce turned in his chair, looking after him, “But what if we can’t help him?”  
  
Alfred looked over his shoulder and smiled in that knowing way, his eyes wrinkling around the corners,   
  
“I once knew a man who didn’t believe in can’s and cannot’s. Only will, and doing.”   
  
Bruce clicked his jaw shut, and nodded, “Thank you, Alfred.”   
  
\---  
“I’ve gathered all the information on your Red Hood character as I could,” Oracle’s voice was muffled through the computer but Bruce wasn’t necessarily paying attention. He was picking through all of the information, which there was still next to none of.   
  
“His common motivation seems similar to ours, doing what the police can’t, protecting the people, etc.”   
  
“He’s just increasingly more violent,” Bruce growled, looking over a picture of the kid from a side angle. The helmet was made out of a heat resistant metal, and he wore a leather jacket on top of body armor. His common weapon seemed to be guns, knives, but he also had something akin to a grappling hook. It was interesting to say the least.    
  
“Yes,” Oracle got quieter, “His fighting technique tends to be a blend of martial arts and common kickboxing. He’s better at hand to hand than long distance.”  
  
Bruce’s hands froze over the keyboard, “Do you have videos of him fighting?”   
  
“Only a few, I’ll send them over.”   
  
The screen glowed with a _files received_ message and he clicked on them, waiting with baited breath.   
  
The scene that played out before him was one he’d seen before, a group takedown. Red Hood fired his gun into the crowd of drug dealers, clipped one in the shoulder, jumped down and knocked over the biggest guy before taking down the smaller ones. He used his body like a blunt weapon, throwing himself left and right. It was reckless, dangerous.   
  
Bruce exhaled, shaking his head, “He fights like a street rougher, it’s messy.”   
  
“It’s probably where he learned, but he also has technique. There’s a precise method to his madness, which.. A lot of people who’ve met him and survived said that he’s crazy. He’s not your average rough and tough teenager, Bruce. He’s got some sort of calculation or plan up his sleeve.”   
  
“That makes him no different than the rest of the rogues we deal with on a daily basis. The difference here is that he’s young, he has time to change, and grow. We will help him.”    
  
Oracle sighed, and the mask on screen nodded, “I’m worried that might not be possible, judging from all of this evidence.. Whatever he’s doing it’s not for power, he’s after something else.”    
  
“We will help him,” Bruce said again. “He might be confused about it but he’s not going after the innocent. It’s something we can work with, even if it’s small. Thank you for giving me this information, I’ll get back to you soon, Oracle.” He ended the call with a click of the keyboard and leaned back in his chair heavily.   
  
This was going to be a very long case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiya! if you read this far i wanted 2 say thank you for reading! this is a slow going project so im sorry for the irregular updates. if you want more from me, please feel free to follow my tumblr @brunchyarts where i post prompts, unfinished fics, and fic updates!
> 
> i'm having too much fun with this.


	3. Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> batman and red hood meet face to face, briefly.

Truthfully, he hadn’t made much progress on the Red Hood case in the past month. Everything seemed to strike at once with Wayne Enterprises, charity balls, public relations meetings, everything. Unless he stayed up till daylight he wouldn’t cover any ground with Gotham’s latest vigilante.

Besides, he’d made the decision that he wouldn’t break any further ground until he saw the kid in person. He wasn’t positive how he would handle it but he could figure it out when he got to it. Obviously, Hood would try to escape first, everyone who wasn’t ballsy always tried that route first.

He was thinking too far ahead, and getting into that headspace at a gala wouldn’t do him any good. His hand tightened against a champagne glass, zoning back into the conversation after a woman kindly waved a hand in front of his face. 

“I must’ve spaced for a second,” Bruce hummed, “My bad. We were discussing ethics, right?” He threw on a charismatic smile for emphasis. He only had to stay for another hour, just one.

“No, Mr. Wayne. We were discussing if you’ve sought therapy after everything that happened with your boy. You’ve just been through so much in your life, and I think it’d be beneficial.”

Ah yes, therapy. He clicked his jaw shut and smiled, looking up at the clock, “I have to get going for a dinner with Dick, this was a lovely conversation.” 

“Mr. Wayne!” She scoffed, and tried to reach out but he swiftly turned away. The champagne glass trembled in his fingers and he set it down on an empty table before bracing himself for Gotham’s chilled wind. 

It nipped at his face, and his footsteps crunched against the slush that gathered on any staircase this time of year. His thoughts went everywhere, scattered unfocused,

He remembered when he got into his first argument with Dick in front of Jason. It wasn’t on purpose, Jason had hid on the stairs and was watching them silently. Why Jason was watching in the first place was something Bruce never figured out. 

Dick had knocked over an expensive vase in a fit of anger, screaming about something Bruce had long since forgotten. He saw Jason flinch on the stairs and they both went quiet when they heard his thundering steps back up to his room and the slam of his bedroom door.

“You better go get him,” Dick hissed, turning away. 

“I will,” Bruce had said, going upstairs and making his way up to Jason’s room. Jason was inconsolable for an hour, unwilling to come out of his wardrobe out of fear. He’d never seen Jason react like that. Bruce had tried to reason that therapy may help him get over whatever triggered this response, because therapy was what average men tried to get for their kids. Average men didn’t train their children to fight crime to help deal with emotions. 

Jason had screamed at Bruce for suggesting therapy, kicked the wardrobe door angrily and called every doctor in Gotham a sleeze. 

In some ways, Bruce supposed he was right. Doctors in Gotham had a tendency to become sellouts, or drug dealers, or any term under that. The city changed people for the better or for the worst. But it was his city, his home. 

It had been Jason’s city too, the city that birthed and carved him into the precious thing he was when he was alive. 

He breathed in and out, practiced his own meditation principals to keep his head out of whatever panic it was trying to throw itself into. Maybe therapy would be beneficial but he couldn’t look a therapist in the eyes and say: I held my dead son’s body in my arms, cleaned him up, tried to push life back into him because I believed he couldn’t be dead. 

He had lost Jason long before the explosion, he thought to himself. The words almost ghosted his lips but he bit his tongue, and snapped the thought away as quickly as he could. He focused on the things he could feel, the snow in his hair, the things he could see, old buildings, broken sidewalk.

And he was fine, the panic snuffed out like a candle wick. He took a deep breath in and exhaled it slowly. He was roughly a block away from the car, and he made the trek back with his hands stuffed into his coat pockets

 

A group of men passed him by, talking, and Bruce tuned into their conversation as he kept on. Just because he wasn’t wearing the cowl didn’t mean he couldn’t gather information. 

“I heard the Red Hood is gonna go for Black Mask next,” one of them said. 

“Did you see the blow he took last night?” The guy next to him whistled, “I’d be shocked if his lung wasn’t collapsed. There’s no way he’s hitting Black Mask anytime soon.”

So the Hood was injured. 

That meant it was Bruce’s time to strike. 

\---

“Do we have eyes on him, Oracle?” Batman was speeding through the streets of Gotham, wind whipping against his face. 

“Yes, he’s taking to the rooftops now. Looks like he’s going for cover.” 

“Or hiding,” Bruce took out his grapple gun and shot it at the roof. The motorcycle long forgotten. Nothing else mattered to him, he needed to stop this kid, knock some sense into him, or at the very least talk. 

It had been one night and three more men were dead, bad men, but still men. 

His footsteps were silent as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop. The glint of red metal in the moonlight pushed him to go faster. Hood was off his game, it was obvious. From every piece of information Bruce gathered he had come to the conclusion that the kid worked in the shadows until he wanted to show himself. He wasn’t a showboat, wasn’t there for the kicks of the job. 

Good intentions, bad delivery. Bruce could change that, couldn’t he? 

He swung to the right and that was when he saw him. 

The Red Hood, an entire five foot nine teenager. Bruce expected him to be taller for some reason. He had a big presence on camera, but while running it was nonexistent. Just a child running away from authority. 

Bruce ran faster, swinging the next right. He couldn’t catch enough ground but he could tell the vigilante was struggling. 

Did you see the blow he took last night?

Hood was tucking his right arm too close to his side, his bad side. Whatever blow he took it wasn’t enough to keep him down that night. It was all Bruce needed, he just needed him down. Surprise was his best weapon. Bruce pulled a smoke bomb from his pocket and aimed it at the right, throwing it as hard as he could. 

Then he acted. He saw the shine of metal in the smoke and he tackled it down, heavy weight pressing into his arms. 

Bruce looked down, into the white lenses of the helmet. The weight in his arms had gone completely limp and he realized that the kid went unconscious. 

 

He struck too hard. Bruce flipped them around, an arm bracing the kid’s back. If it was a collapsed lung, he would need to go to the hospital. He could get an identity from that, it was all he needed. He readied his grapple gun for the nearest building, already pressing the trigger.

And the kid jerked back to life with the kickback of the weapon, flipping himself backwards before Bruce could grab him. 

“Tough luck,” he had said, his voice altered by a speaker in the helmet, it was so tinny, so obvious. “Focus harder next time.” 

The grapple line clicked taut and the boot that connected with Bruce’s chest went down hard enough that he heard something audibly crack. Which bone, he wasn’t too sure. His mind hit a wall, a huge wall. He couldn’t believe himself, couldn’t shake himself out of it. 

His back hit the brick wall of the nearest building, The Red Hood got away.

But Bruce wasn’t empty handed, no. He knew how to handle him next time. 

Next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u so much for reading this!! this chapter was actually difficult for me so im sorry if it's kinda boring!


	4. Glass Charades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dick grayson makes an ENTRANCE

“Damn, he got you pretty good,” Dick was talking about his collarbone, which had been dutifully fractured thanks to the Red Hood.

Bruce grunted, going back to typing on the computer. He was mostly shocked that such a small teenager could deal a kick like that. For a while he guessed that there was steel in his boots, to keep him weighed down, or for better strikes when he kicked. But it wasn’t possible with the way he moved, light on his feet, kicking off walls like it was nothing. 

“You’re still thinking about going after him, aren’t you?” Dick set a mug down in front of him.

“Hnn,” Bruce took the mug and sipped from it carefully. He hadn’t been discussing the case with anyone except for Oracle. By relation that got Dick involved, even if he didn’t want it. Nobody else should have been concerned. 

“No offense to your outstanding work, B,” Dick popped his lips as he spoke, leaning over the computer. “But the kid has training, good training. Do you know anyone else that can come back from fainting and deal a blow like that? Not many people can, hell I couldn’t until what three- four years ago?” 

“Five if we’re keeping track. I know he’s trained but trying to figure out who trained him is the problem. He’s light on his feet until he strikes, and he doesn’t often use a weapon in close hand to hand. But when he’s far away..” 

“Guns, lots of guns, I saw. Babs and I have been looking over the footage for a while now.” 

“Oh really?” Bruce raised his brows, opening the few footage files he had of The Red Hood. 

“Uh-huh, for example, right there,” Dick pointed at the screen. 

Hood jumped from one wall to the other, flipping around and cracking his heel against a thug’s skull so hard that it split. It was so clean, almost like it was rehearsed. Logistically Bruce knew it wasn’t, it was something he learned to do by combining techniques. In fact he felt like he’d seen the maneuver before. 

Dick whistled, “So, he’s dexterous at climbing walls, knows all of the weak points on the human body, and can deal a hit like nobody’s business. He’s not your average crime fighting joe.” 

“Exactly.”   
“So why are you adamant on trying to get ahold of him?”

 

Bruce swiveled in his chair, hands folded atop one another as he looked at his son seriously. 

“He’s just a boy, Dick. Probably sixteen or seventeen. How many teenagers do you know that fight crime unwarranted?” 

“Not.. many.”

Bruce nodded, “Not. Many. So either, someone is making him or influencing him to take down the drug rings in Gotham. Or someone gave him the tools, taught him the mindset, and now he’s on his own doing this. If he gets in the wrong hands..”

“I know, Bruce, I know. I’m not here to tell you you’re wrong. I’m here because I want to help you get him. Teenagers hate authority. We could corner him, get him to talk, or better yet..” 

“Get him in custody, get him some help,” Bruce sighed heavily, turning back to the computer. “We’ll leave at six, track his location, and start a chase.” 

“Wait, you seriously want to do this tonight?” Dick sounded shocked, Bruce didn’t know why. 

“The sooner was take him down and get him help, the better. For all we know he’s being mind controlled, and this could be a bigger problem than it already is.” 

“Alright.. I’ll meet you at six.” 

“Mm.” 

\---

Catching the Red Hood was proving more difficult than previously thought.He’d set up explosives on five different floors of the building they were chasing him through. The smell of ash and sulphur burned Bruce’s nose but he persisted. 

“He’s taking to the roof, again,” Nightwing hissed into the comm and Bruce rolled his eyes. 

“Try to predict where he’ll go, get in front of him, I’ll stay on his tail.” 

“Roger.” 

Bruce heard another one of the floors explode and the building creaked heavily, on the verge of collapse. Chasing this kid felt like a living nightmare, running through explosion after explosion like a maze of death. 

He took his chance with a broken window, readying his grapple and taking off through the sky. 

 

Maybe that was his lucky break. He heard the thundering footsteps of a chase and saw the glint of red metal, and he lunged. 

He tackled the Hood down, went for his wrists to pin him down but his helmet came crashing against his nose. If Bruce hadn’t jumped back when he did he was positive his nose would have broken, it wouldn’t be the first time. 

The kid got up but was sent back down to the ground, kicked so hard in the back that Bruce heard his jaw click together. 

“Got him,” Nightwing chided. “Likes to play a lot of hide and seek-Jesus!” 

Hood acted fast, socking Dick in the jaw before flipping up. 

“You guys are a little too slow, I thought you were the tough.” 

Bruce could practically hear the grin on his face, 

“You won’t get away with killing people, not here, not anywhere.” 

Red Hood scoffed, putting a hand on his hip, “I’m doing what you can’t, old man. I’m doing what Gotham needs, what it’s always needed.” 

Bruce’s jaw clenched, tightly. Who the hell was this kid to claim that, about his city. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Don’t I?” The kid sneered.

He watched Nightwing stand back up, and he made direct eye contact. If they were going to catch him their chance was tonight, it wouldn’t happen again. The Hood was too methodical.

Bruce thought that Hood would’ve gone for Nightwing, but no. 

Instead he tackled Bruce off of the roof with enough force that they sailed through the sky. Bruce heard the click and backfire of a grapple gun. 

“This was fun and all, but I’m a busy guy-” 

Another gun went off and Bruce watched as a lined wire clipped the underneath of Hood’s arm, tearing right through his skin. 

The kid was distracted and Bruce realized in the moment that the only reason he was still dangling in the air was because Hood wasn’t letting go. His fingers were wrapped so tightly onto Bruce’s wrist that it burned through the kevlar. It was an unnatural strength, he’d.. He’d felt that strength before. 

Ra’s Al Ghul had strength like that. 

“Who are you?” He growled, jaw clenched, “Who sent you?” 

Hood turned his head down, lenses of the helmet squinting into a glare. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Hood growled back at him, blood dripping from his arm. Bruce was positive he was going pale under that helmet, and the grip on his wrist loosened. Hood turned back, yelling, 

“Take one more step and I’ll drop him!” 

Bruce unclenched his fist, letting his glove slip out of the Hood’s grip. They had to act quickly, they wouldn’t get him otherwise. 

He was relying on distraction, it was all they had. He wouldn’t fall either, but perhaps he’d knock some sense into the kid by seeming like he would be. 

The wind whipped against his face, and he brought his finger to the comm in his ear. 

“Get him into the train station on sixth, corner him in. I don’t care how you do, get him unconscious if you have to.” 

“Got it, don’t die.” 

“I don’t plan on it,” he turned the comm off and shot a line at the building before the train station, soaring in a perfect arc once it was pulled taught. From this angle he could see what was going on. Nightwing had kicked the Hood down, and their fight was a flash of blue and red, headed towards the glass roof. 

Bruce swung in, glass shattering under his feet. He tucked into a roll, landing cleanly on the tracks. It wasn’t much longer before Hood and Nightwing followed. 

When the boy landed his head bounced off the sidewalk, and Bruce knew that even with the helmet he at least had the wind knocked out of him, if not a concussion. 

“We got him, B,” Nightwing shook the glass out of his hair, chest heaving. There was a slice across his shoulder, and it stretched up to his collar. Hood must’ve pulled a knife. 

“Not yet we don’t,” he walked over to the kid, carefully. He rolled him over and cuffed his wrists behind his back. His body was completely stilled, and Bruce guessed he was disoriented. 

He hauled the kid up and over his shoulders and that was when he heard the quiet but unmistakable, 

“What are you gonna do, put me in Arkham? Hide me with the rest of your failures?” 

Bruce’s brow twitched, “No. We’re going to figure out who you are and get you help, proper help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiya! so again, im not proud of this chapter. Im REALLY not great at writing fight scenes but I hope this one turned out alright? Lol! If you're liking this so far feel free to shoot me a follow @brunchyarts on tumblr where i post shorts, headcanons, and unfinished fics. (u can also ask me any questions about this series or my fic universe!) 
> 
> so i have this in three acts.. which means this is the end of act one!!! 
> 
> thank u for sticking around, and thank you for 1,000 hits!!! it means a lot to me <3 and y'alls sweet comics got me in my feelings.


	5. Chairs And Tables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> interrogation time.

Bruce didn’t want to handcuff the kid to a chair, but it was the only option. Part of him wanted to give him immediate medical attention, especially considering the blow he took while falling through the roof. 

But interrogation came first, and Hood was too slippery to handle before that happened. 

He sat in front of him, hands clasped in his lap. 

“We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Let’s start with your name,” he tried to keep his voice softer. He had to remind himself that the Red Hood was a teenager, he wouldn’t respond to yelling the same way a grown man would. 

“The Red Hood.” 

“I said your name,” Bruce pushed further but the kid answered again, 

“I already gave it to you, it’s The Red Hood.” 

Bruce’s brow twitched under the cowl and he shifted, sitting up a little straighter. He watched, in silence. Part of him wished he took the helmet off of him so he could read his expression better, but he wasn’t going to violate his identity like that, not yet. 

The kid slumped back in the chair, “It’s the only name I know, I took it on myself when I got back into this shithole of a city.”

“What do you mean, got back into?” Bruce was already thinking of theories. The kid was probably brainwashed, trained, then thrown into Gotham to be devoured by the wolves of the city. 

Except the Red Hood became the wolf instead of being eaten by one. 

“I was out of the city, don’t ask where. The details get a little foggy. So I come back into the city, it was awful. Like, I don’t know what I did my first month here kind of awful.” 

“You decapitated a few leaders of Gotham’s largest drug trade?” 

“No,” Hood spat, “Not in my first month here. I’m not a damn psychopath.” 

Bruce leaned back in his chair, putting his hands up, “I didn’t think you were to begin with. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, it seems like your timeline of events are different from mine.” 

“Yeah, no shit, asshole,” Hood sat up straighter, mimicking Bruce’s posture. He tilted his chin up and looked directly into the white lenses of his cowl. 

“We can make this simple and you can give me your series of events, from your start, to right now. Do I make myself clear?” 

“Crystal..” 

Red Hood went into the events that brought them to that very moment. A lot of it was vague, he described some sort of cult and Bruce’s mind flickered to the Court of Owls. It was very plausible, and a decent theory. But he couldn’t shake the memory of how tight the kid’s grip had been on his wrist. He was positive there was bruising just by the way he felt his skin brush up against his glove. 

“And now I’m here, sitting with the Batman himself. You know I’m only doing what you won’t do. I’m taking down cruelty at its core, and giving it finality so it can’t rise up out of the grave I put it into.” 

“How old are you?” Bruce snapped, cutting him off. He wasn’t getting into how that wasn’t the right way to do things. The kid was influenced, brainwashed and young, so very young. 

The Red Hood stared at him for a long time, pulling against the cuffs that tethered him to a chair. He looked like a bird locked in a cage the way he was. 

Bruce slowly rose to his feet, fist clenched on the table that separated them. 

“How old are you?”

“It doesn’t fucking matter how old I am! Why do you even care? Just fucking throw me in Arkham, the damn place blows up once a month anyways. We can do this again in four business weeks, easy peasy.” 

“I don’t care about sending you to Arkham, I care about getting you the help that you need, because you aren’t like the men and women who go to Arkham.” 

Hood snorted, shoulders shaking with laughter, “You think.. You think I’m not like them? Aren’t you supposed to be the world’s greatest detective or some shit?” 

“You don’t know who I am?” Bruce raised a brow, leaning over the table and looking into the white lenses of the boy’s helmet. He could easily take it off, figure him out. He didn’t remember his name but he could run DNA tests. 

“Everyone in Gotham knows who you are, I’m not a damn idiot.” 

“I wasn’t calling you one-” 

“You implied it just like every other headass adult in this piece of shit city. You think you’re doing good for it but instead you make it worse. You refuse to tackle crime at it’s direct core, stop it once and for all. If it takes killing to fix this city I’ll-” 

“You’ll kill everyone in this city, that’s what you don’t understand. Gotham has and always will be a breeding ground for crime. The only thing we can do, as people who care, is try to help the good people.” 

The Red Hood leaned back in his chair, looking Bruce up and down. 

“So I’m going to ask you, one more time. How old are you?” 

“I turn seventeen in..six months, I think. But I’m not sure if that date’s even remotely correct.. My age doesn’t matter, I’m-” 

“Not what this city needs,” Bruce cut him off, pushing his chair back in. He took a deep breath in through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. 

He grabbed the back of the chair, and looked down at it. 

“I once heard that a chair is symbolic of your place in life.” 

Hood flinched in his seat. Bruce struck a nerve, a big one. 

“.. What?” 

Bruce repeated his sentence, “I once heard that a chair is symbolic of your place in life. You sit when you’re cocky enough to think you have power. In an interrogation, detectives will resort to standing above their subject-”

“And Now, you stand above me,” Hood finished, looking up at him. “I.. Do I know you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEEZE IM FINALLY DONE WITH THIS ACT JESUS CHRIST. I'm so bad at writing climaxes ughhhh ;_; if you enjoyed this so far please shoot me a follow @brunchyarts.tumblr.com. I might be taking a short break from this fic to refresh my mind on what I want to do but I'll post any updates over on my tumblr! 
> 
> In the meantime, between updates, if you want to send me any fic requests, prompts, or ask me questions, please feel free to shoot me a message. 
> 
> thank you so much for reading so far <3 I can't wait to be back with the next chapter.


	6. Flashbacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce gets thrown into a flashback after The Red Hood reminded him of something he longed to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who'S BAACCCK. I finally figured out what I wanna do with this. Here's a quick flashback chapter before I jump into the next chapter. I hope you enjoy. If you want any updates, unfinished fics, or prompt fills, please feel free to follow my tumblr @brunchyarts.tumblr.com. If you have any questions about my fics i'd love some anons in my inbox <3
> 
> Thank you so much for your patience, I hope my fic fills all of your Jason Todd and Bruce Wayne needs!

Bruce could vividly remember the way Jason held his hands. He was never a touchy feely sort of kid. He offered hugs, and liked to be held close, but he was never the type to sit and play with Bruce’s fingers for hours- not the same way Dick was. 

But whenever they were out in public, Jason would hold Bruce’s hand and lace their fingers together tightly with his little brows knitted together. 

Jason probably thought he was intimidating, Bruce was fondly reminded of a constipated man when Jason looked like that. But he always had an iron tight grip, unyielding in every way possible. Bruce knew this was probably a subconscious thing Jason did because of his mother, holding her hand tight so she wouldn’t fall over, always conscious of being by her side. He was sure that Jason logically knew that he didn’t have to do that for Bruce, but perhaps- and this was Bruce’s theory, it gave him comfort to act strong.

So Bruce would squeeze his hand back, put an arm around his shoulders. He’d hold Jason close to his side and Jason would take up all of the empty space like water in a glass.

He would never ask to be held, but Bruce always knew. Sometimes he could just tell with his son. So he’d walk right on over, and he would scoop Jason up from wherever he was sitting. 

“Bruce- I’m reading- ugh put me down!” He always complained loudly when he was interrupted from his reading.

“Not gonna happen, chum,” and he’d squeeze him tighter until Jason started giggling. 

“Put me down! Augh no, not the hair, Alfred, ALFRED!” He’d cry out, in a mock screech that made Bruce’s ears ache in the best way.

Bruce would ruffle his hair until his tight little curls unravelled and became a mountain of frizz. Jason would laugh until his face turned bright red, squeezing Bruce’s forearms to bloody hell. He’d kick his legs out, trying to find any purchase on the ledge of the couch.

Alfred would stand in the doorway, grin on his face, “I think you’re quite alright, Master Todd.” 

“N-No! Alfred save me, puh-lease! He’s squeezing, augh!” 

“I’m afraid I cannot, young sir. I’m simply too tired,” Alfred said dramatically. 

Bruce scooped Jason up further, cradling him in his arms and blowing a raspberry against his cheek, 

“It’s time for bed,” he said seriously and Jason pushed his face away with his hands. 

“I have one more chapter to read, it’s just one, I promise. Bruce please, please? It’s getting to the good part!” 

“Jason, you’ve read Frankenstein five times-”

“And!” He threw his arms into the air and flipped out his grip. “It’s good every single time, please. I just wanna finish this chapter, the monster is learning how to talk and it’s just so good. Please?” 

“What if I read it to you in bed?” Bruce had suggested with a crooked smile. 

And Jason just lit up. He ran around the couch to pick up his book and went for Bruce’s hand, dragging him up the stairs. 

“So I’ll take that as a yes?”

“Duh! Absolutely, you have the best narrator voice on the entire planet!” Jason would explain dramatically, every single time Bruce offered to read to him in bed. 

He missed those squeals, he missed the way Jason would hold his hands.


	7. White Clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce interrogates The Red Hood further, and doesn't get the answer he wants but comes to the conclusion he needs.

Bruce steeled himself, breath hissing out of his nostrils painfully slow as he tried to regulate himself. He couldn’t risk and overreaction, not in front of the kid who seemed to play god. 

His hands clenched around the back of the chair. Yelling would be pointless, it’d turn the conversation right back on it’s already unstable head. 

“Where did you hear that?” He asked, voice low as gravel, icier than the arctic. 

The Red Hood’s head tilted up in vague acknowledgement, and Bruce had half the mind to rip the helmet off his head. He was already forming theories, tossing them around his mind like a circus juggler.

“I’m not sure it’s just.. I know I’ve heard it before, that’s all,” Hood’s voice is soft, broken. 

“I’m going to take your hood off,” Bruce decided, crossing over the side of the table to stand behind the kid. “Let me guess, it’s a hidden button on the back?” 

“Gee how did you know?” 

 

Good, his telltale sarcasm was back. That was easier to deal with than the sound of a broken teenager that had his memories scraped out of him.

Bruce knew must’ve struck some sort of mental switch, bringing up something the kid remembered but couldn’t place. It definitely had to be amnesia of some sort. The question was: From what? A nasty fall? Kidnapping?

He tacked it down in a mental note attached to the kid’s missing name. He clicked the button on the back of the helmet and it hissed as it popped off. It worked on some sort of air lock system, which was smart. There was no accidentally knocking it off. The hood was basically a modified cowl. 

“I’m guessing there’s more tech on the inside?”

“I repeat, gee, how did you know?” The kid snorted, shoulders shaking with a silent chuckle. 

Bruce looked at him as much as he could without facing his front. He had to keep a respectable distance, and couldn’t risk overstepping whatever boundaries they had managed to draw in their short hour of interrogation. 

The Red Hood kept his hair cropped close to his head, and had a pale scar that started from his jaw and seemed to end around his cheekbone area. He must’ve gotten slashed in the face with a thin blade, probably a katana.

Bruce stiffened, remembering the way the kid had gripped his wrist earlier that night. Lazarus pit strength was something ungodly. He moved Ra’s Al Ghul up to the top of his suspect list and examined the boy further.

He could, in theory, pluck a hair off the kid’s head and run a DNA test. It’d be slow but simple enough. He just needed to get it at the root, and with how close the kid kept his hair cropped that might prove to be more difficult than previously thought.

“Do you want to know who you are?” He asked, breaking the silence in the small room.

The Red Hood flinched, head tilting to the side where Bruce stood next to him. The kid’s Adam’s apple wobbled dangerously, mouth opening and closing before he decided to speak.

“I’m.. I know who I am.” 

“Hn.” He looked at the helmet in his hands, turning it over and looking at the white lenses. “Do you?” 

 

“I’m the Red Hood, that’s all.. That’s all I need to know about myself.” 

Bruce clenched his jaw, a silent laugh wheezing in his chest.

“Really? You don’t want to know anything else about yourself? Likes, dislikes, interests, family?” He turned the helmet over again, looking at the seams of hidden compartments. Knowing the vigilante, there was probably a self destruct setting somewhere on the piece. 

“I’m the Red Hood,” he repeated, voice going icy. “What else do I have to know?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bruce started, “Your family is a good place to start. They’re probably worried about you.” 

“Hah, that’s funny.” 

“It’s not funny at all, missing children is a problem in Gotham. I thought someone like you would know that.” He walked over to the concealed door in the wall. Bruce knew it was a good idea to install a separate interrogation room in the cave. He wouldn’t have been able to get this far with the kid in the GCPD precinct. 

“You’re just gonna fucking leave me here?” The handcuffs rattled against the metal chair dangerously and Bruce looked over his shoulder.

“No,” his tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth. “I’m putting this helmet away and then I’m taking a DNA sample from it, and then we can talk how normal people talk.” 

“Says the man in the bat costume..” 

Bruce pressed the button to open the door and stepped out, and the door shut behind him with a static whoosh. 

There was something familiar about how the kid talked. Chastising seemed to come easy for him, and he had a specific way with words. He was charming with brute force behind him, it was no wonder he had managed to take down and take over so much of Gotham’s main crime syndicates. 

He looked down at the helmet, and then at The Red Hood from behind the one way glass that separated them. He was just a kid, a kid that had been influenced by one of the most powerful men on the planet. 

Or manipulated by one of the most powerful men on the planet. 

Both thoughts made his blood boil and he looked back down at the helmet in his hand. A barrier between self and the outside world. You can’t see the world properly through clouded white lenses after all.

He flipped the helmet over in his hands and managed to spot a blood stain already inside of the padding. Really, it was too easy. He should’ve been more suspicious. 

Bruce crossed over the threshold of the cave and put the helmet inside of the computer’s DNA scanner. It encased itself and immediately the machine got to work. The monitor lit up in an array of bright double helixes and a loading bar. 

He’d installed those graphics onto the scanner when Jason first started as Robin. 

“It’s basically like a guess who game, right?” 

Bruce exhaled shakily, now wasn’t the time to get wrapped up in his thoughts. Flashback be damned, he had to remind himself that The Red Hood was still a criminal, he killed people. He was still a kid, and he could be redeemed.. Especially if Ra’s had something to do with it. 

He could get his record cleared, get him into a good mental health program. 

Batman always kept Wayne Industry business cards in his utility belt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so im suposed to be packing my room but inspiration struck lol. sorry for going mia! no excuses other than life kicks ur ass and for some reason i can only write bruce when im crying so jjot that down. 
> 
> i need 2 subtitle this: UTRH but brunchy writes it very shittily. 
> 
> if you enjoy me or my work pls consider following me on my tumblr @brunchywrites for fic updates, prompts, headcanons, and random memes. 
> 
> THIS WORK WILL NOT DIE, DAMMIT!!!


	8. Will He

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The DNA test results come back

Bruce sat in front of his monitor with his hands folded over his mouth. Every now and again he spared glances into his interrogation room. It looked like the kid had taken to keeping his head down on the table while waiting- that or he was working around the cuffs. Bruce wasn’t worried, even if the Red Hood got out of the cuffs, he’d have a harder time getting out of the room. 

So either he would keep still, or exhaust himself trying to escape an inescapable room. It was a win-win for Bruce either way. 

The loading bar was at 90% and he heard the elevator woosh as Alfred came down. 

“My, my, sir. Dna testing already?” 

“He’s a kid, Alfred. Only 16 years old,” Bruce’s eyes drifted back to the room before returning to the screen. 

Alfred made a clicking noise in the back of his throat, “That’s quite upsetting, any leads on who turned him into a rambunctious crime leader?” 

“Ra’s Al Ghul.” 

“Really?” 

Bruce grunted, “The kid has a lot of memory problems, can’t remember anything before he got to Gotham.” 

The bar hit 95%. 

“And has an unnatural strength, strength that only comes from the pits. If he was some dead kid that Ra’s brought back to life, the amnesia makes sense. He’s unbelievably young to be out there doing what he’s doing.” 

“Yes, chopping the heads off of big leaguers and dumping them on the GCPD’s doorstep-”

“Alfred, he’s a kid who’s been taught how to do this. He obviously gets the weight of what he’s doing but he thinks he’s justified. That’s not something most 16 year olds come to on their own.” 

“Unless they’re guided towards that belief, yes. I’m very aware, Master Bruce.” 

Bruce looked at the screen again, a picture of the Red Hood popping up next to a picture of..

Robin. 

Jason- 

DNA Match: Red Hood and Deceased Jason Peter Todd. 

His heart dropped somewhere between his stomach and up in his throat. For a moment all he could hear was the way his heartbeat pounded against his skull. A nauseous feeling coiled in the pit of his gut. That kid. The kid who played in the drug life of Gotham like it was a chess match was his son. 

His unfortunately dead son, his beloved son. The son that wouldn’t shower until he read one more chapter, his son that refused to brush his hair nearly every morning. 

Jason Todd, the boy that Bruce brought home and immediately started talking about philosophy while debating to eat a sandwich. That very same boy, who grew nearly five inches in a year after finally getting proper meals.

Bruce exhaled through his nose. He didn’t know what he was feeling, was it anger? Disappointment? Or just a great loathing that he had let this happen? Ra’s Al Ghul had gotten ahold of his son. 

The dead deserve to rest in peace, not crawl back out of their graves to take control of the crime syndicates of Gotham. 

He got up from his chair, looking back at the shiny plastic helmet in the scanner. It made sense, really. 

“The Red Hood was Joker’s old alias,” he said, crossing over the room. “I wonder if he did that on purpose,” he doubted it. The alias could’ve been handed to him by Ra’s or it was a small snippet of his memory that he couldn’t place but decided to manifest and bring to a physical fruition. 

Bruce looked at the glass case that contained Jason’s robin uniform. He’d put it there to remind himself to never make the same mistakes again. No one else had to die, no one needed to die. Jason didn’t deserve to die. 

But he deserved to have been left at rest, not brought from the dead for god knows what reason. 

He passed by the case, pressing the open button and walking in. 

“Oh goodie, the bat returns,” the Red Hood- no- Jason turned his head to look at him and Bruce felt his breath catch. 

His eyes were that particular shade of lazarus green, absolutely piercing in the worst way possible. But at the same time there was no doubt about it, that was his son. He had his particular little scar on his eyebrow from falling out of a window while distracting thugs. His brows knitted together in the same way they always had. 

“You can’t recognize me,” Bruce walked so he was on the other side of the table, looking at his son, his boy. 

“You’re Batman, everyone knows that-”

Bruce pulled his cowl down, looking at Jason, really looking at him. He was still so young, his face not quite angluae with maturity. His shoulders were a little too broad for the rest of him, his limbs too lanky and not settled in the right places. 

Jason stared up at him, eyes wide but he didn’t speak. Bruce figured that he was thinking, or remembering. He kept looking down at him, at the scar on his face, the starter stubble on his chin and jawline. 

There was a patch of white hair at the front of is widow’s peak, if it grew out the locks would remain completely white, no doubt a response to the lazarus pit beyond the green of his eyes. 

“I…” 

“Do you recognize me?” Bruce asked again, sitting down in front of him. He had half the mind to undo the cuffs that kept his son in the chair, just to hold him. But that could easily be his undoing. He kept his ass in the metal chair.

Jason’s teeth caught his lip and he stood straighter in the chair. The metallic clang of the cuffs scraped up the sides of it. 

“I don’t..” He trailed off, but didn’t take his eyes off of Bruce. 

There was a second of a moment, where Bruce swore if he blinked he would’ve missed it. The light entered Jason’s eyes and his gaze widened, mouth dropping into an O shape. He was remembering, slowly, but it was progress. The start of progress. 

Bruce didn’t know how far he’d get if he just sat there and explained everything, remembering was something Jason would need to do on his own time, on his own. Bruce could only hope to kickstart the progress, even if he wanted to take his son in his arms and just hold him. 

“Bruce, you’re- you’re Bruce. You’re my-.. Dad, you’re- you.” The anger dripped out of his voice and he looked damn near defeated while sitting there. Jason looked lost, like he had just stepped into a world where he didn’t belong. 

But he did belong, again. Bruce got up out of the chair and stepped behind him, taking out the key to the handcuffs. 

“What are you doing?” 

“You’re my son, I’m not keeping you handcuffed to a chair for the rest of the night,” he got the lock undone and the cuffs slipped off his wrists, then he unlocked the one that kept his right ankle attached to the chair. It dropped to the floor with a clatter and Bruce looked up at him. 

Jason’s eyes were glazed over with unshed tears, his lip wobbling just the way it used to before he’d start crying and Bruce broke. He stood up off the floor and he enveloped him in a hug, arms wrapping wholly around him and pulling him close to his chest. 

He rubbed his back, holding him as close as he physically could. Jason trembled in his arms, fingers gripping at the back of his cape like a lifeline. 

“I’m here for you now, Jay,” he whispered into his ear, “I will always be here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look at me posting somewhat regularly hAAAh. Well! the bomb is dropped and thus we're starting the thirdish part of this fic (Jason's recovery process babaye)
> 
> if you enjoy me or my work feel free to follow me on tumblr @brunchyarts.tumblr.com for prompt fills, headcanons, and oddly niche memes. 
> 
> (I also love anons but that's me liking attention lol >.>)


	9. Nostalgia Factor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There ain't nothin like wafflehouse to bring family together.

That night had been difficult. Bruce promptly didn’t let Jason go for almost ten minutes, not until he felt him start to pull away. His fingers were still firmly attached to his cape like a lifeline, and Bruce moved back enough to look at him. 

“You’re safe now,” he said, seriously. “You’re always going to be safe here.” 

“But I’m not- me. I can’t remember anything-”

“You were able to remember me, and that’s enough, Jason. That’s enough,” he spoke softly in an attempt to calm him down. “You’re still you, that won’t ever change. Do you hear me?” 

“I was dead, people don’t just come back from being dead- they-” 

Bruce thumped him on the back. Ra’s Al Ghul was going to pay for what he did. He couldn’t understand what motive he would have for bringing his son back to life. It filled him with an unfiltered rage he couldn’t explain.However, at the same time.. He wouldn’t have this if Ra’s hadn’t made the collective decision.

“But you’re here now,” he said, “And we’re going to help you through this, understand? Alfred, me.. Everyone. What happened to you wasn’t fair in the slightest. That’s something you’re going to have to accept now, you’re not going to be alone this.”

Not while Bruce was still standing. 

“I killed people.” 

“You did,” he agreed. “You weren’t in your right mind,” it wasn’t something Bruce would forgive so easily, but his goal was getting Jason better, not making him worse. He held the back of his head, “We’ll work on that too.” 

“You’re serious?” 

“We did it once, didn’t we?” He looked down at him, meeting his son’s watery gaze. “We can do it again.” 

Doing it again started with a handful of things, a change of clothes, a shower, and shoving an extra bed in Bruce’s room (not that it was really hard to put a twin bed in the master suite.) 

Neither of them slept that night. Bruce handed Jason a copy of Pride and Prejudice and they sat down together and read until the sun came up. Jason attached to the book just as he did as a child, laying back against his bed and reading each page carefully, mouthing the words under his breath. 

Bruce supposed that some things would never change, no matter how much they seemed like they should.

When his alarm clock read 8:00a.m, Bruce put his book down and looked over at Jason. 

“Do you want to go out for breakfast?” 

Jason turned his head, making a face at him, “You seriously wanna go out for breakfast with a murderer?”

“I’d like to go out for breakfast with my son, yes. I don’t know the last time you’ve eaten but I’m figuring it’s been a while.” 

“You want me to go out for breakfast in Grey Ghost pajama pants?” 

“That would be the point, yes,” Bruce got up from bed, toeing on his slippers, looking at Jason again, “You’re looking at me like I’ve grown a third head.” 

Jason blinked, then scoffed, “Because you’re acting fucking crazier than I am.”

“Freaking,” Bruce corrected, “And no, Waffle House doesn’t have very high standards, does it?” 

Jason jumped out of bed, shoving his boots on, “Okay, okay I’m going.” 

“Thought so.” 

Wafflehouse had that effect on people, it wasn’t a place where people paid much attention, and there was only one existing in Gotham. It sat right on the city limits, tucked across the street from a rundown strip mall next to a cigar shop and a liquor store. 

In the actual morning there were hardly any people there. Bruce and Jason took a booth closest to the door and looked at the menu. Bruce already knew what he was getting, it never changed from the past few times he graced a Waffle House. 

He watched his son flip the menu back and forth a few times, trying to figure out what he wanted. 

“Might I suggest the hashbrown bowl,” Bruce offered, and Jason gave him a look. 

“You might suggest,” Jason shrugged and looked back at the menu, finally setting it down and looking across the table. “I still don’t get why you want to take me out to breakfast, I-”

“Not right now,” He cut him off, raising his hand, “We can talk about it in the car.” 

“Ugh, whatever,” Jason stopped as the waitress walked by. She was a tall woman with a freckled face and hair graying at her temples. She had the most positive energy about her as she talked to them. 

“You boys gettin’ back from a road trip? Can I get you something to drink, coffee, orange juice?”

Jason spoke up first, “Can I get a black coffee with orange juice on the side?”

The waitress gave Bruce a look and he nodded. She wrote down his order then looked at him again, grinning, 

“And for you, sweet pea?”

“I’ll get the same thing he’s getting,” and he flashed a dazzling smile back at her.

Jason scowled, mumbling something about him being a copycat. The waitress grinned, “Alright, you boys take a second to look at the menu again and I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

“Thank you,” the boys said in unison. 

Bruce smiled, Jason covered his mouth with his hand. 

They sat in silence for a few seconds, and Jason moved his hand off his mouth, “I don’t get you.”

“What’s not to get?”

Jason gestured between the two of them, “This, you’re acting- completely and unabashedly normal about this whole thing. I was dead, and I came back, killed people, we fought-” 

Bruce nodded, “Mhm.”

“And you’re just talking to me like nothing happened, I broke your freaking moral code! Now you’re taking me to breakfast, what gives? What are you plotting?

Your recovery, Bruce thought at first. He didn’t say it out loud. The waitress set down their drinks and took out her ordering pad. 

“Now what can I get you guys to eat?” 

They took time apart from their brief argument to order, and the waitress giggled at them and turned away. 

Bruce looked at Jason quite seriously, and slid his hand open palmed across the table. 

“I’m not plotting anything. You coming back isn’t the worst thing in the world, do I believe that you should’ve been left to rest? Of course I do, but you’re here now, and Jason.. I’m so glad to see you alive. But now it’s the case of getting you well, and I’ll be damned if I don’t do everything in my power to help you.” 

Jason’s eyes drifted down to the table silently. It looked like he didn’t know what exactly to say about that. He was missing a chunk of his life to begin with, and restarting a new chapter would certainly be difficult. 

“How do you know you can help me?” Jason asked, picking up his mug of coffee and taking a painfully slow sip. “How could you possibly help me?”

Bruce shrugged, mirroring his son’s coffee movement, “Because I’m Batman, that’s why.” 

Jason snorted in his cup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright i took forever with this, OOPS. BUT SHES HERE. Honestly it's all funky bonding hours from here folks, no more angst, just cheer. Thank you so much for reading this fic <3 if you enjoyed it pls feel free to follow my tumblr @brunchyarts.tumblr.com for prompt fills, questions, or just a fun chatty chat chat. (i also post memes, sometimes ;) ))


	10. Carry You Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason Todd decides to do whats best for him.

If you asked Jason Todd what he expected when he was captured by Batman, he would answer simply,  
  
He would get thrown in Arkham (and he’d escape), and he and Batman would become mortal enemies, point blank, and period.   
  
What he was given, instead, was an unexpected kindness. A kindness that felt like a knife piercing through the heart that he tried over and over again to destroy. He couldn’t yet remember everything. Ever since coming out of the pit a majority of his life had been a blur, only retaining flashes of important details.   
  
He could remember his mother, dead in a recliner, cockroach running over her foot. He could remember standing in the Batcave’s gym, training with Bruce. But they were flashes of barely tangible things, things he felt like he was looking in from the outside.   
  
His mind didn’t belong to him anymore, it belonged six feet under where it was supposed to stay.   
  
But for some reason, everyone treated him as though he was simply sick for a while. As if he hadn’t died, as if Ra’s Al Ghul hadn’t spent several months training him to be an assassin, then plopped him into Gotham with no rhyme or reason.   
  
It was bizarre, utterly and totally weird.   
  
“What’re you gonna tell the public?” Jason asked one morning, leaning against the doorframe of Bruce’s study, a mug of hot cocoa between his hands. He was going to start actual therapy tomorrow, not this weird.. Spending three to four hours with a random family member to keep him as busy as possible so he couldn’t possibly think about it. Whatever, he wasn’t complaining. Dick had never been this nice to him, even before he died.   
  
Asshole probably felt guilty, _good_ the little voice in his head said.   
  
“There’s several directions we could take it,” Bruce began, voice low. Jason raised his brows, tapping his nails against the ceramic cup.   
  
“We could fake a new identity for you.”  
  
Ew, no. Bad plan. His facial expression must’ve been telling because Bruce sighed and closed his laptop.   
  
“Or, we could take a completely different route.”  
  
“I’m all ears,” Jason sipped from his mug, not budging from the door.   
  
“We could simply say that in a fit of teenage angst, you faked your death to get away from the high life for a while.”  
  
Jason paused, blinking a few times. “What, so we’re just gonna say I had a fuckin’ Britney Spears moment?”   
  
“You do have a buzz cut right now. We don’t have to go that route, but it’d be believable with your background.”  
  
He rolled his eyes, “Okay, fine, whatever. I faked my death to get away from your helicoptering and being in the spotlight 24/7, had a freak mental breakdown. Sounds perfect to me.”     
  
He kicked off the wall, ready to sulk in his room and read for a couple of hours but Bruce stopped him.   
  
“Barbara is going to pick you up from therapy tomorrow, she wants to spend time with you.”  
  
Jason sighed, “Fine, but I want to go there by myself.”  
  
“You’re gonna drive?”  
  
“No, I have legs.”  
  
Bruce scoffed, “That’ll be a two hour walk, y’know.”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” he shut the door behind him on the way out.   
  
The walk to his therapist’s office was indeed two hours long, but it was the first two hours that he was able to breathe by himself. The air was crisp, not frighteningly cold but just plain crisp. It was enough to sting at his eyes and his nose as he walked into the city. Gotham still smelt how Gotham always smelt, like sitting water, an ashtray, and depression. If depression had a smell, Jason was pretty sure it was Gotham City.  
  
His therapist’s office was luckily, closer to the outside of the city rather than the center, which was nice because it meant easier access home without the temptations.   
  
Jason shouldered into the small office, walking right up to the receptionist’s desk. He made sure to stay polite, a little smile on his face,   
  
“Hi, I’m Jason Todd, I’m here to see ah.. Dr. Brown,” he didn’t mean to put on a show or anything, he just didn’t want to scare the living daylights out of some poor receptionist.    
  
The lady just looked at the computer screen, clicking through a few things before handing him a clipboard. “She’ll see you in ten minutes, dear, just fill this out while you wait.”  
  
He smiled at her, took the clipboard, and silently sat down in the waiting room. He’d done a lot of filling out papers within the past week, and he was tired of it. Luckily he didn’t have to do a whole lot of thinking about it. He had begun to start hating analyzing himself, hence the need for a therapist. If someone else could analyze him, perhaps his life would be easier.   
  
Jason filled out the sheet, answering all the questions as honestly as he could. It was cathartic in a way, to click off the little boxes about how he was feeling. He wondered if writing down _fucking crazy_ would count. He figured the doctor would suggest him being schizophrenic due to the voices, maybe even insane, paranoid-   
  
He flipped the clipboard over in his lap, drummed his fingertips on the wood. It was fine, he’d be fine. He was taking his first steps into okayness, and that was progress.   
  
The door to the office opened and he looked up, making eye contact as he heard a gentle,   
  
“Mr. Todd?”  
  
Here goes nothing.  
  
Here goes everything.   
  
Jason got up, keeping his head low as he walked through the door, nails tapping against the clipboard as he handed it to the woman, a nurse- maybe. He wasn’t sure but she led him down the hall, making small talk. Jason had never nodded and ‘mhmed’ more in his life.   
  
It finally struck him that he was nervous about the whole ordeal, all of his cards would be on the table to be analyzed, it was terrifying.   
  
The nurse led him to his therapist’s actual office and he looked at the door before walking in. Dr. Brown, huh.. That didn’t tell him anything.   
  
The office however, did- it was decorated from floor to ceiling in a way that Jason could only describe as homey. There were colorful tapestries on one wall, string lights and pictures on another, and in the right corner, a decorated desk and.. Dr. Brown.   
  
“Good afternoon, Mr. Todd,” she smiled, and it dawned on Jason that he forgot that most therapists were genuine people. Dr. Brown certainly looked genuine. She was all of 4’11, portly, with curly hair and warm eyes. If the embodiment of a warm hug existed, it was Dr. Brown.   
  
“You can go ahead and have a seat. We’re just gonna get to know each other a little today.”  
  
He sat down silently, hands on his knees. Dr. Brown sat down too, and she just smiled.   
  
“Do you want me to go first?”  
  
“Please.” He sounded pathetic, but Dr. Brown sucked in a breath, then smiled.   
  
“I’m Dr. Gwendolyn Brown, I graduated from Gotham U with a degree in psychology, obviously,” she laughed, “I have three kids, and I absolutely adore bike racing.”  
  
“Bike racing?” Jason asked.   
  
Dr. Brown nodded, “You know, like motorcycle races, dirt bikes, things like that. I love the adrenaline rush, it’s how I met my husband. Surely a boy like you has hobbies.”  
  
He shifted a little, skipping the whole name introduction, she already knew that. “I guess I like theatre.. I dunno.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Yeah, like- classic musicals and stuff. My grandpa raised me on Shakespeare so I guess I have a knack for it. That’s probably my favorite thing,” beyond martial arts, but he didn’t want to talk about that, not now. He rubbed at his wrists and looked back at Dr. Brown.   
  
Who beamed back, “You know, my daughter does community theatre, it helps her blow off steam.”  
  
“Really? I didn’t know there was a local place.”  
  
“Well, you’d be surprised about what’s around these days. Can I interest you in a round of war while we talk?” She plucked out a deck of cards from her desk.   
  
Jason looked at the cards in her hand, then at her, “Why not?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sOO it's done. Uh! Idk how 2 feel tbh. I started this fic when I was.. really going through something and i'm finishing it as I'm starting my whole adult life. So can we say 'therapy fic' or what LOL 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed reading this! I had a lot of fun writing it. This won't be the end of the You Once Read series, of course. But this will be the last bigger fic section. Thank you for keeping with me as I wrote this, and for your unconditional support. 
> 
> if you want to find me online, my tumblr is brunchyarts.tumblr.com where i post prompts, memes, and in general just b talkin.

**Author's Note:**

> hey welcome 2 the sequel I Once Read... so basically this is Under The Red Hood except I do what I want with it. No it's not an exact retelling, no it's not the exact Jason we're used to *yet*. He also won't probably be properly introduced until arounddd the third chapter? or so. give or take
> 
> if you have any questions feel free to dm me on tumblr @brunchyarts or shoot me a follow for updates, unfinished fics and prompt requests.


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